


The Darkness In Me

by Auber_Gine_Dreams



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Curses, Dark Magic, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, Fuck or Die but like Mildly, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Sex Magic, Strangers to Lovers, Supernatural Elements, Threesome - M/M/M, Witches, Wonwoo is just here for the magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24185743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auber_Gine_Dreams/pseuds/Auber_Gine_Dreams
Summary: “You haven’t had any headaches,” Minghao answers. “It’s a quick fix, I’m afraid. I didn’t have a lot of time to feel out the magic in the curse, but if you’re willing, I can do a bit of digging and find something better.”Mingyu holds his hands up in front of him. “Whoa, whoa. Curse? What do you mean curse?”Minghao reaches out then, fingers hovering over Mingyu’s temple, over the dull ache that never really goes away.“It’s there,” Minghao says. His face is serious. “It’s spreading.” His fingers trace the air, down the side of his face, down his neck, stopping to hover over his collar bone.~~or~~A boy, two witches, and a curse.
Relationships: Jeon Wonwoo/Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 32
Kudos: 222





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been quite literally possessed by this idea for months. It started by seeing a certain picture of Mingyu, and then hearing Palo Santo by Years & Years, and it's just spiraled into, well, this. I wanted to write something dark, something just a little creepy. This is so self-indulgent but it's exactly what I wanted it to be. There is a lot of blood in here, so if that's not your thing you're gonna want to skip this!!
> 
> Title is from "Palo Santo" by Years & Years. 
> 
> As always, I invite you to check out my [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hSDp7CZH1Mk6N4oyunLKz?si=j07Trv6VTOWEIksEFoxQtQ) which is equal parts sexy and spooky.

_We all move forward anyway  
_ _Ripples in all directions  
_ _What is a ghost?  
_ _Something dead that seems to be alive  
_ _-Richard Siken_

  
  


It starts the week Mingyu runs away. From the outside, there isn’t much in his life to run away from. He has money, a career laid out at his feet. Except he has no friends to speak of, childhood or university. He has a Business degree but it’s not his, will never be his, and his current job is somewhere between a glorified assistant and CEO. It’s a cool autumn morning just like any other when Mingyu wakes up and buys a one way ticket from Los Angeles to Portland, turns his phone from Airplane mode to Do Not Disturb as soon as he lands, a single checked suitcase holding his entire life. 

He found a fellow LA transplant, a strikingly handsome guy named Seungcheol, listing a room in his apartment for rent. Mingyu jumped on it as fast as he could, paid his entire portion of the lease in advance. It’s only a matter of time before his money, _his father’s money_ , runs out. He tells Seungcheol a simplified version of this when he arrives at the complex. 

It’s a simple brick building in the heart of the city. Ivy clings to the building, choking the brick, covering the black metal fire escapes even with frost covering everything in a thin layer. Seungcheol lets him inside, shows him his room, and Mingyu is hit with the worst headache of his life.

He doesn’t remember much. Seungcheol tells him later that he grabbed the side of his head and started screaming, that he hit the floor so suddenly their neighbor across the hall came to see what was wrong. It took hours for him to come back to himself. Seungcheol practically dragged him to the emergency room after, where the physician took one look at him and said that migraines can be very painful, _especially if you aren’t used to them_. _Come back if it happens again._ Gave him a single prescription for Cafergot and sent him on his way.

Mingyu has been in Portland for six months, and while he’s never had a headache as severe as the first one, they have never really gone away. Sometimes he wakes up from a dead sleep, searing pain in his temple that burns hot all the way down his neck. Sometimes it creeps on, a dull ache that lingers for days. He’s learned to live with it.

He’s sitting outside of a cafe across the street from the bookstore he works at. The table and chair he’s sat at is iron, flecks of rust showing through the peeling black paint. The brick wall next to him is dusty and worn. The building housing the coffee shop is old, but something about it draws Mingyu to it over and over. He can’t seem to stay away, even when the air is cool and damp on his skin, his breath visible on each exhale. He’s not dressed for the early spring weather, his gray tee shirt and dark jeans doing little to keep him warm. He’s at least wearing a beanie, and he adjusts it to cover his ears. There’s a cup of coffee next to his right hand, a white foam heart decorating the top, and he’s got a camera in his left hand.

Photography. It’s the only thing that’s ever been his. When Mingyu was ten he asked for a camera for Christmas, and he’s never been far from one since. He’s upgraded them slowly over time, but the original one is still his favorite. Vintage. It fits with the culture of Portland a little too well, the little shops full of vinyls and old Polaroids mixed with new age crystals and herbal shops.

Mingyu looks through the window of his camera and snaps a picture of the faded brick. He won’t know until he develops the film how it’s turned out. It’s part of what he likes best about it. The waiting. He holds up the camera again just as a man walks into view. Mingyu snaps a picture. It feels like he should. A sharp pain radiates from his temple and down the side of his neck. 

He sets down the camera and his hand goes to his head automatically. The man turns to look at him. He’s far enough away that they would have to shout to speak to each other, but close enough that Mingyu can make out his long black hair, the dark blazer and jeans he’s wearing.

He walks toward Mingyu like he’s been meaning to do it all along, stopping just a few steps away from him. His eyes are dark, so dark they’re almost black. He looks at Mingyu and it feels like staring into a frozen lake, a cold kind of beauty. He breathes out, breath fogging from the cold, but it seems more solid, somehow. Like smoke.

He stares at Mingyu for a long time without saying anything. Mingyu’s temple throbs, a steady ache, the kind that’s going to get worse in no time. He’ll be lucky to make it through his shift without getting sick. The silence drags on for so long that Mingyu sighs.

“Can I help you with something?” he asks. The man raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting to match. 

“What you should be asking is if anyone can help _you_.”

Mingyu feels the words tingle up and down his spine. He tries to shake off the strange feeling, but it’s taken root, teeth and claws sunk into his brain as firmly as his headache.

“What, are you gonna rob me or something?” Mingyu half laughs it out. “Hate to break it to you man, but I barely make enough to pay my bills.”

The man shrugs. His entire demeanor gives Mingyu the creeps.

“I meant because you’re dying.” His eyes hover at Mingyu’s temple. “I’d say you have less than a year left.”

  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


Mingyu wakes up in his own bed with no memory of walking home. The last thing he remembers is that strange guy at the coffee shop, dark hair and dark clothes and pitch black eyes, staring at him and saying he’s dying. Did he have another episode? Did someone call Seungcheol to take him back home?

Mingyu takes careful steps out of his bedroom and is greeted by an empty apartment. Not of things, that would be too much to handle after such a strange morning, but empty of Seungcheol. He checks everywhere. There’s no sign that Seungcheol has been home since he left for work, everything exactly as it was when Mingyu left earlier that morning.

There are two things that catch Mingyu’s attention when he sits down at the kitchen nook. The first is the note stuck to the freezer with a magnet, one of those touristy Portland ones Mingyu bought on a whim as soon as he arrived at the airport. The ink looks wet. The letters loop artfully in a delicate, practiced calligraphy. It reminds Mingyu of old, old things.  
  


_It was my fault. I didn’t think that my magic would have such a severe effect on you. I’ll take more precaution next time._

_Your manager said your name is Mingyu. I’ll trade the knowledge for knowledge. My name is Minghao, and the next time we meet each other I’ll explain. Not everything, but enough._

_I left your camera in your house. It didn’t seem like something you’d want to part with. Take care of yourself._

_Don’t erase the line on your windowsill. Or the rune.  
_

Mingyu’s eyes drift to the kitchen window, to the salt in a line across his windowsill, and the smudge of black ash in the left corner. The rune looks like a tiny combination of shapes to Mingyu, swirling lines and geometric patterns that make no sense, but the side of his neck burns when he looks at it. Mingyu can’t decide if it’s a warning to get rid of it or to keep it.

He goes back to work the next day and his manager is just barely understanding. One more episode like this and they’ll have to talk about his performance, carefully worded of course because they can’t legally fire him for being sick. It won’t be the first time, though. Mingyu has had 4 jobs since moving to Portland. He shows up, he does his job, and yet somehow he’s still the one let go. The lowest man on the ladder, overstaffing, a record store even let him go because of “ _something in his background check_ ”. Mingyu is pretty sure they took one look at his father’s name and decided that he wasn’t worth the trouble.

It’s two weeks of normalcy before Minghao finds him again. Mingyu is finished with his morning shift, enjoying the warm sunshine at his favorite table at the coffee shop, and when he opens his eyes Minghao is sitting across from him. Today he’s dressed in a black tee shirt and dark jeans, sunglasses shielding his eyes from view. 

“Hello, Mingyu,” Minghao says. His name carries a little too much weight in Minghao’s mouth, like there’s importance there that shouldn’t be. It sounds like his father’s name.

“Nice to finally meet you, I think, Minghao.”

Minghao’s mouth is arranged in a small, careful smile. He can just see his eyes behind his sunglasses. Dark, pitch black. Mingyu still feels like shivering.

“How have you been feeling?”

“Better. I’m really sorry you had to deal with that.” Mingyu sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. “In the note you left you said something about...magic.”

Minghao’s careful smile morphs into a smirk. “You say it like you don’t believe in magic. Yet I asked you not to erase the rune and you didn’t, did you.”

He doesn’t ask it, he states it. Mingyu does shiver, this time. 

“How do you know that?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he intends. 

“You haven’t had any headaches,” Minghao answers. “It’s a quick fix, I’m afraid. I didn’t have a lot of time to feel out the magic in the curse, but if you’re willing, I can do a bit of digging and find something better.”

Mingyu holds his hands up in front of him. “Whoa, whoa. _Curse?_ What do you mean curse?”

Minghao reaches out then, fingers hovering over Mingyu’s temple, over the dull ache that never really goes away.

“It’s there,” Minghao says. His face is serious. “It’s spreading.” His fingers trace the air, down the side of his face, down his neck, stopping to hover over his collar bone. “I think you’re running away from a lot of things, but you can’t outrun this. It’s already this far along.”

Mingyu isn’t religious, but he’s always been superstitious, always believed in other, more sinister things. Minghao has been right about everything so far. He did run away. He didn’t erase the rune or the salt Minghao left him. 

“So these headaches are, what, a _curse_? Like someone hates me so much they want me to _die_?”

The corner of Minghao’s mouth quirks up, amused even as he levels cool eyes up and down Mingyu’s body. “I don’t know if I can help you.”

Mingyu bumps Minghao’s hand away from his temple with the back of his own. Minghao is cold where they touch.

“Why do you even want to help me?” he asks, brows furrowing. “You don’t even know me.”

They are strangers, two people that passed each other on the street. Minghao breathes out, cloudy white though the afternoon air is too warm for it. 

“I don’t know why.” Minghao runs a hand through his dark hair. Inky. Wet. Everything about Minghao seems _more_ than it should. “I wasn’t looking for you, but I found you anyway.” His sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and his eyes flash. It reminds Mingyu of some large, predatory cat. Eyeshine. “Something powerful is inside of you. Like a challenge. I want to win.”

🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


Mingyu agrees to meet Minghao at his apartment in a week’s time. He needs time _to gather some materials_ , he says. It almost feels like a big elaborate hoax, except Minghao doesn’t seem like the kind of man that would play a joke on a stranger. Two days after he meets Minghao Seungcheol cleans the rune off the kitchen window. They alternate cleaning duties, and Seungcheol is always thorough. It’s not surprising to see it gone. It’s more surprising that it’s barely gone for a few hours before Mingyu’s head explodes in pain. 

His vision goes dark, and if he weren’t already sitting on his bed he would have fallen to the ground. Like the worst pain he’s ever felt times a thousand, acid pooling in his brain and leaking down his neck, burning hot, insects chewing his insides. The pain stops just at the top of his collarbone. He bites down on his fist to keep from screaming. He’s dying. He wants to die. There’s no way he can survive this. 

Mingyu isn’t sure how long it lasts but when he finally opens his eyes his room is dark, the only light filtering in from the moon. He turns over on the bed and Seungcheol is there, head pillowed on one arm, the other one thrown over Mingyu’s waist. Was it that bad? Did Seungcheol think he was going to die, too? The shuffling is more than enough to wake him. He sits up with a start, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Mingyu reaches out for him but pulls back. His hand is a bloody mess, bite marks from where he struggled not to scream. The inside of his mouth tastes metallic now that he’s noticed. 

“Jesus Christ, Mingyu. Are you okay?” Seungcheol asks. His voice is rough from sleep. Mingyu wonders if Seungcheol is regretting that Mingyu paid in full, wonders if he’s looking for a reason to kick him out. 

Mingyu sighs. He takes inventory. His head is a dull ache. The side of his neck is stiff. He can’t remember the last time he ate. 

“I’m okay,” he answers softly. “I’m, uh, sorry. That you have to deal with this.”

Seungcheol furrows his brows, shaking his head a few times. 

“No. No, don’t apologize. You’re _sick_ , Mingyu. That’s not your fault.”

Seungcheol is being way too nice. Mingyu can count on one hand the times they’ve talked to each other. They’ve probably spent more time together like this, Seungcheol checking in on Mingyu and dragging him to the emergency room, than anything else. 

Mingyu sits up and runs his clean hand through his hair. He’s glad Seungcheol hasn’t noticed the other one yet. 

“I’m gonna get some water, and I’ll take one of my pills. Thank you, for coming to check on me.”

Seungcheol stands up and stretches, rolling his head from side to side to ease the stiffness from his neck.

“You’re not just my roommate you know. You’re my friend, too.” 

Mingyu swallows past the lump in his throat enough to nod and Seungcheol walks back toward his own room, stopping to flick the bathroom light on for Mingyu. When he hears the door to Seungcheol’s bedroom shut he goes in, washes the blood off his hand and sips down a glass of water, pops one of the bright yellow pills in his mouth and downs another half glass of water with it. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, the dark, bruised circles under his eyes, the blood at the corner of his lip. And for a moment he’s convinced he can see black creature on the side of his neck, slimy and thick, fingerlike projections stretching up toward his ear and down toward his heart.

The rest of the week passes in a blur. Mingyu works his scheduled shifts and is so drained by the time he gets home he barely has the energy to eat. His left side is a constant ache from temple to neck. He gets Minghao’s address in the form of a note blown in through his open window. It’s not as surprising as it should be. Though he’s still a bit skeptical about being cursed, he knows Minghao has something supernatural about him, from the way he talks to the small things that don’t seem strange until later, like the way his exhales are always heavy like smoke. 

Minghao’s apartment is dark. There are no lights hanging from the ceiling, a single lamp in the corner, a small string of lights across the far wall. There’s a tapestry hanging over the window, a tarot card, The Moon, blocking out the rest of the world. 

An incense stick coils smoke on the windowsill. Sage, the scent sticking in Mingyu’s throat, cloying, almost choking. His mind has been hazy since they walked in, like something about Minghao’s apartment is outside of time, real and not real. Sleep deprivation and low energy have not helped, either.

Minghao sits them both on the floor. There is no furniture in the large space. Instead, five huge circles are drawn in white chalk. He sits Mingyu outside of the circle closest to the window and puts himself inside of it. Next to him is a cigarette wrapped in snow white paper and a bowl full of gray ash. 

“I can already tell it’s gotten worse,” Minghao says once they’re settled. He taps the side of his neck, lets his fingers trail down to the top of his collar bone. “Did you erase the rune to convince yourself it was real? Magic doesn’t like to be controlled, especially not dark magic. I’m surprised you aren’t dead from the rebound.”

Mingyu flushes. “It was my roommate. I didn’t, I don’t, I _believe_ —”

Minghao smirks, shaking his head. “You don’t have to explain. I’m going to reach out to you with my power and see if I can figure out what sort of curse you’ve been afflicted with.” Mingyu must make a face because Minghao adds hastily, “It won’t hurt. You won’t notice anything at all.”

There are only two options: the curse is not real, Mingyu has chronic migraines at best or a brain disease at worst and he’s going to die. Or the curse is real and Mingyu is going to die. There’s not much to lose either way. There’s something about Minghao that makes Mingyu trust him even though they barely know each other. 

“Okay, yeah,” Mingyu says. 

Minghao smiles, something small and halfway genuine as he lights the cigarette and brings it to his lips. The smoke Minghao breathes out is pure white, opaque and heavy enough that Mingyu’s chest aches when he inhales. Minghao’s eyelids flutter closed. Mingyu is transfixed, unable to look away.

He takes out a knife and slices his palm before Mingyu is even aware of its presence. Minghao’s breath shudders out. He lets his blood drop into the bowl with the ashes. Drip, drip. Takes the mixture and smudges a line over the left side of his face. He does the same to Mingyu, right side for him. Minghao’s finger over his eyelid is gentle, icy cold. Mingyu shivers. He reaches for Mingyu and laces their fingers together. His eyes are hazy, out of focus. The blood on his left palm is starkly hot against Mingyu’s skin. 

The air around them gets so cold Mingyu can see his breath. It makes the side of his head throb uncomfortably and he has to squeeze his eyes shut as a wave of pain overtakes him. Minghao is whispering under his breath, chanting. Mingyu can’t understand the words, but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t understand them even if Minghao were screaming them. His hands tighten against Mingyu’s and his eyes snap open, piercing in their intensity. Mingyu feels himself move closer, shuffling forward on his knees until he’s at the edge of the circle. 

And then everything goes dark. If there is pain, Mingyu is not aware of it. He’s not sure how long he’s floating in the darkness. He blinks his eyes open once to Minghao shaking him as hard as he can, shoving something into his mouth. _Swallow_. He’s pretty sure he does. The next flash of consciousness is Minghao on the phone, knees drawn up to his chest as he stares at the blood oozing sluggishly from his palm. 

The third time he comes to, there’s a hand running through his hair. At least his head doesn’t hurt. When he blinks his eyes open Minghao is above him. His head is cradled on Minghao’s thighs.

“What’s —” Mingyu starts. Minghao shakes his head. 

“Whatever’s inside of you really hates my power. You started seizing. I gave you something for purification.”

 _Something_. Mingyu doesn’t feel like he’s been drugged. He’s not complaining. 

Someone clears their throat from the other side of the room. Mingyu sits up carefully. Minghao’s hands stay on him, rubbing gently at the small of his back. Something about the man on the other side of the room makes every hair on the back of Mingyu’s neck stand straight up. 

“I called a friend,” Minghao murmurs softly. “Wonwoo is like me.”

Wonwoo rests his elbows on his knees, hands clasped in front of his mouth. He’s striking. Mingyu wonders if it’s magic that makes him that way or if it’s something else. 

“You left out a lot of details,” Wonwoo says. His voice is deep, like crushed velvet and old books. 

Minghao huffs. “There was no time to explain everything over the phone.”

“You didn’t say he was cursed. That’s a pretty important detail.” Wonwoo narrows his eyes. “And don’t say you didn’t know.”

“I don’t know anyone who knows more about curses than you,” Minghao says. He takes his hands off Mingyu’s back and tucks his legs underneath him. “Well, no one I could call, anyway.”

Wonwoo grins, something secret, something old. “Burn enough bridges and what do you expect.” He stands and walks closer to the two of them. “Fine. Let me see.”

He takes a seat in front of the two of them on the floor. Up close like this Mingyu thinks the striking appearance is more because he’s gorgeous than from any magic he must possess. Mingyu can almost feel it, some hum in the air around him, like the calm before the storm, a cup almost overflowing, surface tension just under his skin.

Wonwoo looks him up and down for a long time before his eyes hover at his jugular. It feels strange, like he’s looking under Mingyu’s skin, down all the way, maybe to his soul. It’s a long time before he speaks.

“You can’t bring the dead back to life, Minghao.” There’s a flash of sadness in Wonwoo’s eyes before he looks at the man in question. “It’s too advanced. A whole coven working together couldn’t save him.”

Minghao’s hands shake against his thighs, trembling with something. Anger. Fear. Mingyu can’t tell. Minghao is hard to read. He doesn’t think he could read him if they spent the rest of their lives together.

Wonwoo’s hair is silver gray where it peeks out under his beanie. He lifts his glasses up and rubs his eyes. It makes the sleeve of his shirt ride up his forearm and Mingyu has to hold back a gasp. Wonwoo’s arm is covered in tattoos, shapes and lines, bold words written in Latin. In some spots his arm looks pitch black, no visible skin at all. He pulls the sleeve back down when he notices Mingyu staring, arranging his hands back in his lap.

“I’m going to,” Minghao says lowly. “When have you ever known me to back down from something like this?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “This isn’t some fucking...master level summon. You’re strong, but this is out of your reach.”

Mingyu should be scared, probably. Wonwoo is talking about the thing inside of him like it’s a game, like this isn’t life or death. Instead of feeling anything, he’s just tired.

“Fine,” Minghao hisses, tugging at his hair, “Then help me.”

Wonwoo blinks at him. They are quiet for a long time, and the silence in the apartment is not broken by anything. Minghao doesn’t have any clocks, no television. There is nothing but the soft sounds of breathing. 

“Will you help me or not?” Minghao asks, voice flat and tired. Mingyu looks between the two of them. His heart pulses hard in his chest, the side of his neck burning as blood surges in his veins.

Wonwoo sighs and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. He lights one, the smoke ashy and dark as he blows it out. Too dark, really. Mingyu wonders what exactly is in the cigarette to make it look like that.

“Not unless I know what it is. When you figure that out, call me.” His eyes flick to Mingyu. “I’ll think about it.”

Wonwoo walks out of the apartment without saying anything else. The smoke that floats in front of his face smells herbal, medicinal. Clove, maybe. It makes Mingyu’s nose itch. 

He turns to look at Minghao. He’s digging his nails into his palms, anger like Mingyu has never seen blazing in his eyes. He reaches out without thinking and puts a hand on Minghao’s shoulder. Minghao flinches under the touch, hard, and Mingyu almost pulls back but Minghao’s eyes lock with his and he doesn’t want to let go at all.

“Is it...am I really that bad off?” Mingyu asks softly. 

Minghao sighs, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “It’s powerful magic. I don’t know who you pissed off but they really wanted you dead.”

“And Wonwoo? Would he really be able to help?”

Minghao stands up and holds out a hand to Mingyu. He takes it.

“Let’s get you some tea.”

Minghao sets a kettle on the stove and washes the blood off his palm. It’s strange. The cut already looks like it’s healing, the edges pink with new skin. He waits for the water to boil and adds a sachet of tea leaves, lets it infuse and pours Mingyu a cup.

“Have you known Wonwoo for a long time?” Mingyu asks when he can’t take the silence anymore.

Minghao pours his own cup and nods, a smirk hiding behind his mug. “You could say that. Time passes a little differently for people like us.”

 _Like us_. Mingyu thinks calling Minghao a witch would be somewhere between an understatement and an insult. Maybe later he’ll ask. _How many of you are there? What does it feel like to touch the tendrils of power and not have them eat you alive? Why me?_

“He has a lot of tattoos. Why does he keep them hidden?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Not just tattoos,” Minghao scoffs, “They’re runes. Infused with magic. They keep Wonwoo’s power under control.”

“What do you mean under control?” Mingyu asks. 

“You saw the black spots, right? Those are from before he got the runes. His hair, too. Wonwoo’s magic is so powerful it nearly killed him.” Minghao turns to look at him. There’s something in his eyes that Mingyu can’t place. “Magic is its own kind of curse. Use it too much, you die. Don’t use it enough, you die. Rebound magic spreads like poison.” Minghao runs a hand through his dark hair. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to fix you, with or without Wonwoo’s help.”

Mingyu bites his lip, hesitates, before he finally blurts out, “Or die trying?”

Minghao smirks. There is no cigarette in his hand but a tiny wisp of smoke curls out of his mouth all the same.

“Yeah. That’s about right.”

  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


Minghao visits the coffee shop across from Mingyu’s work frequently. He can’t remember ever seeing him before all this. He wants to ask, _are you worried about me? Do you care about me, or is this some kind of pissing contest? Do you want to prove how powerful you are or do you actually want to help me?_

They have to wait for a full moon. Minghao is going to try to see into Mingyu’s soul, or something, try to figure out what kind of curse lives inside of him. It’s strange how everything is normal. Seungcheol makes an effort to grab dinner with him more often, but other than that everything around him proceeds the way it always has, like magic isn’t real and doesn’t exist and isn’t going to pour like tar into his heart, choke up the arteries until it stops beating.

The headaches come and go, no better but no worse than they were before meeting Minghao. The newest issue is the burning in his throat, like he’s constantly thirsty but no amount of water will satisfy the itch. It’s stabbing, too, insistent, impossible to ignore. He’s taken to scratching at his neck without realizing it. Seungcheol has had to pull his bloody nails away more than once in the past few weeks. 

“I’m seeing someone about it,” Mingyu tells him. Their hands are between them, fingers laced. Seungcheol is so warm it almost makes him dizzy. “I’m going to get better. I promise.”

Seungcheol doesn’t question him. Mingyu is grateful. He doesn’t know how he would explain what Minghao is trying to do, anyway.

He finds himself back in Minghao’s apartment in no time at all. The door is unlocked and he lets himself in. Minghao is kneeling in the circle left from the one he was in last time. A bowl of palo santo burns in front of him. He breathes in the smoke, trancelike in his focus.

Mingyu shuts the door behind him and makes his way over, putting himself in front of Minghao. There’s something about the plant, cleansing, maybe, but Mingyu can’t remember. Minghao must be using it for a reason. Next to him is a pill bottle and a pack of cigarettes. The smoke wafts over to him and he feels a little lightheaded. How is Minghao breathing it in full force?

“No matter what happens, I need you to stay still. It’s going to look scary, but I promise you nothing bad is going to happen to either of us this time.”

It sends a chill down his spine. Last time it was just him. This time, Minghao is doing something that he doesn’t want Mingyu to think is dangerous. That means it probably is. There seems to be a lot of that hidden just out of sight in magic. Blood and drugs and the sinister kind of coldness that Minghao wears like it’s a part of him.

Minghao slips two blue pills into his mouth, swallows them without water. 

“What’s that for?” Mingyu asks. Minghao gives him a lopsided grin.

“Visions. They happen on their own, but when I need to have one I use a little help.”

Hallucinogens? Mingyu isn’t sure. He hasn’t done many drugs in his life. It doesn’t take long after that. Maybe another five minutes and Minghao’s eyes roll back, pure white where Mingyu can see them. He gasps like a dying breath and his body shakes, violent tremors but he stays on his knees. It’s not as magical looking as Mingyu thought it would be. He expected swirling winds and ominous voices using Minghao’s body like a puppet. Instead it’s silent, windchimes tinkle faintly outside the window while Minghao shakes and shakes.

His eyes open wide and he gasps again as he comes back to himself, slumping onto his side on the floor. He gasps in breath after breath like he’s been underwater. There are bloody crescents in his palms where he dug his nails in.

Mingyu isn’t sure what he’s allowed to do. Can he reach out and touch Minghao, now? Can he sweep his bangs off his forehead? Is whatever he’s got growing inside of him going to lash out while Minghao is weak? He keeps his hands balled into fists in his lap. Minghao stares at him and does a remarkably good job hiding the way his eyes trace a line from temple to jugular.

“Generational,” Minghao finally gasps out, “Old magic. Very powerful. Mingyu, did your grandfather die young?”

Mingyu closes his eyes and tries to remember. His father didn’t talk about him very much. 

“I don’t know,” Mingyu admits with a sigh, “My father always used to say my grandfather was unfortunate, whatever that means.”

Minghao sits up slowly, bracing most of his weight on his hands. He taps his fingers one by one on the wood, like he’s taking inventory of his parts, making sure everything is working as it should.

“Would you call your father someone who seems unfairly lucky? Like he’s always been in the right place at the right time? Does everything seem to just work out for him?”

Mingyu thinks about boarding school, about the blank checks for any ivy league university, so long as it was business school. Mingyu thinks about the first time his father stopped talking to him, about how quickly he was left with nothing when he mentioned changing his major, how he slept on a friend’s couch for two months before he finally crawled back.

“You could say that,” Mingyu says, the words and memories bitter. “One lucky idea turns into a business empire. It’s always felt a little too good to be true.”

Minghao’s breathing is back to normal and he adjusts his position, sits cross-legged in front of Mingyu, his body still in the circle. Minghao’s teeth are tinted black like ash, a smudge at the corner of his mouth. 

“I think your father knows about this. I think he made one hell of a deal, and now you’re paying the price.”

“What are you — _are you saying that_ …”

Minghao holds two fingers to the side of his own neck, pressing on the spot where Mingyu’s pulse shoots heat through his entire body.

“You’ve probably been afflicted since you were born. No matter the method, your father passed his share of the curse to you. Add that with your own and it’s no wonder you’re already out of time.”

Mingyu expects to feel anger, sadness, _that’s Daddy for you_. Instead he feels strangely hollow, scooped out. Minghao stands carefully, swaying a little as he gets to his feet. He stares down at Mingyu like he can see how empty he is, just like he can see the curse, like a parasite attached to his skin.

“I have to call Wonwoo.”

  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


“ _Sex magic_?” Mingyu asks, voice cracking at the end.

Minghao shrugs, nonchalant.

“A little blood. A lot of sex. It’s not my first choice, but it’s certainly powerful enough magic,” Wonwoo says. 

They’re sitting in Minghao’s apartment. Wonwoo is at the kitchen table scratching a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. He’s not wearing a beanie, silver gray hair out for everyone to see. There’s eyeliner on his lids, smudged and made bolder by his glasses. He pulls a cigarette out of the pack on the table and lights it up, breathing in deep and exhaling with the tiniest of smiles.

He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt, though he came in with a hoodie on. It’s hanging off the back of his chair, and every bit of his arms are on display. The runes are so captivating Mingyu has to fight to keep from staring, a menagerie of symbols and phrases interspersed with splotches of pitch black, like ink in water, almost swirling over his skin.

There are dark lines like spider webs creeping just up his left collarbone. Over the heart. It makes the hair on the back of Mingyu’s neck stand up.

Mingyu looks between the two of them in disbelief. 

“So, you’re saying, what exactly? You’re going to do some... _sex ritual_ and get rid of the curse?”

Minghao snorts and covers his mouth with his hand. Wonwoo takes another drag of his cigarette. The smell isn’t as potent this time, or maybe Mingyu is just used to it. It’s amazing how quickly a person can get used to anything at all.

“What I’m _saying_ is,” Minghao says, grin falling into an almost impatient frown, “I’m going to fuck the curse out of you, and Wonwoo is going to help me.” Mingyu’s mouth falls open. “If you’re willing, of course.”

Mingyu turns to Wonwoo, mouth still hanging open in shock. Wonwoo has that catlike smile back on his face, secretly pleased. He blows smoke in Mingyu’s direction lazily. 

“I’m not saying you’ll die if you don’t, but Minghao knows more about your curse than I do. If he says this is your best option, I believe him.”

“So you — the sex — it doesn't —”

“Bother me?” Wonwoo grins, and something in his eyes shifts, like his irises are made of smoke. “I’ve done things with magic that would make you run out of this room and never come back. Sex is fun, and you’re pretty enough.” Wonwoo crushes his cigarette in the ashtray. “At least if the whole thing goes south, it’ll be a pleasant way to die.”

Mingyu swallows audibly. Both men are staring at him, their eyes piercing, burning against his jugular.

“What if I say no? What’s plan B?” Mingyu asks quietly.

Minghao’s eyes lose all their warmth. Mingyu watches it bleed away and he shivers.

“Human sacrifice, probably. Virgins are always best for this kind of thing, and considering how powerful generational curses are, it might take two.”

He’s not kidding. Mingyu knows, even past the expression on his face, that the situation is dire.

Mingyu’s temple throbs, fire burning down his neck and lower, spreading across his chest. His heart aches, like a vice, squeezing until he can’t breathe. Minghao puts a hand on his shoulder and he gasps, air finally able to come back to his lungs. There is nothing but the smell of Wonwoo’s cigarettes and the silence of the room around him. 

The only problem, really, is that he’s attracted to Minghao. He knows, has known for a while now. He’s beautiful, and like most things in Mingyu’s life this isn’t the way he wanted any of this to happen at all. 

“Okay,” Mingyu gasps, “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Once we start, we can’t stop until it’s finished.” Minghao stares at him across the table. “Curse magic isn’t something that can be broken. It’s got to go somewhere. I hope you understand what that means.”

Mingyu is pretty sure he knows what Minghao means. The truth is that he’s tired of feeling like there’s a hand at his throat. It feels a lot like his father.

“I understand.”

Minghao blinks slowly, mouth curled into a sickly sweet smile. 

“Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing  
_ _and now it’s got its hands inside you  
_ _This is the essence of love and failure  
_ _-Richard Siken_

Mingyu finds himself back in Minghao’s apartment the night of the new moon. His bed is right in the center of his bedroom. The window is open. The breeze is cool, carrying the smells of spring with it. It feels impossibly dark inside even though Mingyu can see. It’s the lack of moonlight, probably. 

Wonwoo is already on the bed dressed in loose black pants and nothing else. Like this Mingyu can see how empty the skin on the rest of his body is, the only bit of darkness a splotch of black next to his right hip bone, small enough to be a birthmark.

Minghao puts a hand against the small of his back and urges him further into the room. He’s wearing a black robe, a slice of his pale chest visible. Mingyu feels overdressed and underprepared, though the only instructions Minghao gave him was to shower and then pour water from a special bottle over his head. Charged, he called it. It felt like his head and neck had been lit on fire, burning pain that lasted until he arrived at Minghao’s apartment.

Incense burn on Minghao’s bedside table. After being in Minghao’s apartment so many times, the smell is comforting but still dizzying. There’s a small altar of sorts, a few low candles, crystals, a metal bowl with herbs, a knife with a pearl handle. Mingyu had kind of forgotten about the blood, but the knife makes it real again.

“Down to your underwear,” Minghao says softly. The hand at the small of his back rubs a few soothing circles before pulling away. “Then on the bed. On your back.”

Mingyu doesn’t know how to tell Minghao that he’s pressing a lot of buttons without even trying, just like he doesn’t know how to tell Minghao that he hopes he’ll stick around when all of this is over. 

He undresses quickly, kicking off his jeans and slipping his shirt over his head. Wonwoo is watching him, wolfish grin as he takes in Mingyu’s body, like he’s going to open his mouth impossibly wide and swallow Mingyu whole. Maybe he will. 

He slides onto the bed opposite Wonwoo and lays down, his hands awkwardly by his sides. He cranes his neck enough to see Minghao untie his robe and let it fall off his body, silk running down his skin like so much ink. He’s naked. Mingyu takes a breath and stares up at the ceiling. _Everything_ is feeling a little more real, now.

He feels the bed dip under Minghao’s weight. The sheets rustle as Wonwoo moves closer, more above him than next to him. There is a buzzing in his ears, ringing, like a headache is coming on. Mingyu ignores it.

“The idea is this,” Minghao says, settling his weight against Mingyu’s hips. “Give the curse a clear path to follow. From here.” Minghao places a finger on his temple. “To here.” He traces a line down the left side of Mingyu’s neck, down the center of his chest, stopping over his underwear near the base of his cock. “Get the magic down here, and then we can pull it out.” He glances across the bed at Wonwoo. “It’s a lot of energy. How many times, do you think?”

Wonwoo stares at Mingyu’s neck, his brows furrowing. He hasn’t told either of them that the pain radiates in his chest now, but he knows they know. In the same way they can see the curse under his skin like he’s stained with it.

“If we’re lucky, just twice.” Wonwoo looks down at Mingyu and something in his eyes flashes, silver, like a trick of the light but there’s almost no light at all. “We’re going to have to force it out. It doesn’t want to let go.”

A wave of panic hits Mingyu, a suckerpunch. He looks back at Wonwoo and his face is warm and tingly. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Do you want to die or do you want to live?” Minghao grips his chin and turns his face back to him. “The pain is only going to get worse as the curse spreads. And where it spreads —” Minghao’s fingertips hover above his heart. “There’s no telling what will happen to you when it gets here.”

It would be a lie to say Mingyu isn’t attracted to Minghao. He is. In fact, he’s thought about what it would be like to be in this very position several times since their first meeting. He imagined it more like this: Mingyu tripping over his words asking Minghao to dinner, coming back to Minghao’s apartment, loose limbed from wine, pressing Minghao back against his front door and staring at his eyes, hesitating, nerves fluttering but desire winning out. 

He imagines their first kiss like this, even with Minghao on top of him, leaning forward to take the knife off of his bedside table. He sets it next to Mingyu’s head and there’s the sound of a match striking. Wonwoo lights a cigarette and breathes in deeply, blowing it out and passing it over to Minghao. He’s closer now, his knees just in front of Mingyu’s head. Minghao breathes in deeply, holds the smoke and when he blows it out it’s pure white. 

“You, too,” he says, his eyes dark with something, almost like magic. “Have to cleanse before we get bloody.”

He doesn’t hold the cigarette to Mingyu’s lips. Instead, he takes the smoke into his mouth and leans down. Minghao presses their lips together and Mingyu opens up, breathing in the smoke Minghao offers him, and like this their first kiss comes and goes. The smoke makes Mingyu’s head fuzzy almost immediately. His temple pulses weakly, but it seems the cleansing has the desired effect. The burning in his neck is duller, too. Like it’s been lulled to sleep. 

Minghao doesn’t break the kiss as soon as the smoke is in his lungs. He kisses him harder, and Mingyu has to breathe the smoke out of his nose as Minghao’s tongue finds its way into his mouth. His hands wrap around Minhao’s waist, pulling him down more firmly, connecting as much of their bodies as he can. 

They break apart at the sound of Wonwoo’s slight hiss. He’s cut a slit across his wrist, blood dripping slowly from the cut onto the bed. He grabs the metal bowl off the bedside table and lets it fall in. There is a strange bubbling, the smell of roses, and then nothing. He sets the bowl back on the table and Minghao takes his hand. The two of them stare at each other over Mingyu’s head.

There is magic in the air. Mingyu can’t sense it the same way that Wonwoo and Minghao can, but he’s getting used to it. There’s magic in the way Minghao takes a breath, the way he locks eyes with Wonwoo as his tongue drags over his wrist. In the way he chants, words so soft Mingyu can’t make them out. Wonwoo’s eyes flutter as he echoes them, softly, like they can’t be spoken any louder. 

Their fingers lace together, Minghao’s eyes roll back, and then they’re kissing. The candles flicker on the nightstand, the breeze blows harder through Minghao’s open window, and Minghao’s thighs squeeze his hips. When they break apart their lips are pink with Wonwoo’s blood. Minghao takes the knife and does the same, a line down his wrist. Wonwoo passes him the bowl and his blood is added to the mix. There’s no bubbling this time, but the smell is stronger, like jasmine. It makes Mingyu dizzy.

He licks his own blood from his wrist. He chants the same phrase, soft but with intent, his eyes fluttering as his breaths come faster. Just like before he leans down and kisses Mingyu again, tongue shoving into Mingyu’s mouth. His blood tastes like honey, sweet and not even a little metallic. Mingyu’s whole body lights up like Minghao is a conduit for more than just magic, pushing desire into him just as he pushes his blood inside.

Minghao breaks the kiss and takes Mingyu’s hand in his. He makes a shallow cut on his wrist, taking the bowl from Wonwoo wordlessly and letting his blood fall in. It’s a strange smell, this time, like orchid blooms just before they fall lifeless from the stem. His blood looks almost black as it drops in. Minghao smirks down at him, his lips pink and kiss swollen. He stirs the mixture with his finger.

“You have to complete the circuit,” he says softly, holding the cut in front of him. “I think you know what to do.”

Mingyu licks the blood from his wrist. He’s supposed to say words, but Minghao hasn’t told him what they are. He can hear them though, gentle and soft all around him. Wonwoo leans over him, his mouth moving, saying whatever incantation is needed, and then he kisses him. The angle isn’t quite right, but it feels good, Wonwoo’s tongue curling into his mouth, heavy and sweet like plums, lapping away at the blood until there’s no taste of it left. When Wonwoo breaks the kiss there is blood at the corner of his mouth. Mingyu reaches up, pulls Wonwoo back down and licks it away. His skin tingles where they touch, and Mingyu is pretty sure things have really started. He lets Wonwoo go and settles his hands back against his sides, eyes finding Minghao, still stirring the blood with his finger. Counterclockwise. Mingyu wonders absently what it means.

He starts drawing on Mingyu’s chest. Complicated symbols, flowing lines and letters so small Mingyu has no idea how he can draw them without a brush. Straight down the middle. The blood is hot on his skin, dark rusty red. He covers Mingyu’s abdomen down to the line of his underwear, and when he finishes he takes two fingers and smears blood against his neck, right over the pulsing heat under his skin. 

“So,” Wonwoo says, way too pleased considering the situation, “who’s fucking him first?”

“Me,” Minghao says, though there’s no possession behind it. Just a fact. There is a new moon, blood is red, and Minghao is going to fuck a curse out of him so that he doesn’t die. “We should wait for them to dry more, don’t you think?”

When Mingyu tilts his head back Wonwoo shakes his head. “It’s more about intent. The magic knows what the blood is spelling out.” His eyes seem to grow darker, like the white is swallowed up. Like some kind of silver haired demon. Mingyu shivers. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of getting messy?”

Minghao rolls his eyes. He rubs the blood staining his fingers between his palms, tints them faintly red in the candle light. He leans down, bracing his hands against Mingyu’s shoulders, closer still, until their noses are touching. Up close Mingyu can see the shifting swirls of color in Minghao’s eyes. Like a prism, like galaxies, like the light of fish in the deep, black ocean, monsters hiding behind beauty. 

“I’m going to start now,” Minghao whispers against his lips. “Trust in me, even when you think the magic is failing. Just trust me.”

Mingyu stares into his eyes and even without the magic, he’d follow Minghao anywhere he asked. He nods, the barest movement of his head, and then Minghao kisses him. 

Their lips slide together in a distinctly familiar way, warm and soft and a little slick. Mingyu inhales sharply through his nose and Minghao hums, settles on top of him until they’re skin to skin. The blood runes are only half dry. Where they touch becomes slick too, warm and wet and something almost animal. Mingyu makes a soft sound as Minghao’s hand curls around his neck. The kiss deepens naturally, their tongues meeting somewhere in the middle. Mingyu reaches up, his hand spread wide across Minghao’s back. He’s ice cold, or maybe it’s that Mingyu is burning up. Minghao breaks the kiss and nips at his jaw, then lower, mouthing over the burning, bloody spot on his neck. 

His lips follow the trail. He takes his time, swiping his tongue across Mingyu’s nipple, trailing his fingers over his ribs, nosing at his hip bones, eyes dark when he looks up through his lashes. Mingyu’s skin burns with each kiss, something hotter than just arousal, just this side of painful, and when he hisses Wonwoo is there, hand running through his hair gently. He wants to ask for a kiss but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. 

Minghao sits up and settles between Mingyu’s thighs. His mouth is stained dark all over, smeared lipstick, his cock half hard just in Mingyu’s line of sight. Desire floods him, a slow thing that isn’t quite enough to override the burning of magic. He remembers Minghao’s words then, from when they first met. _Magic doesn’t like to be controlled, especially not dark magic_. He can feel it already struggling against Minghao’s pull, and for a moment he’s filled with icy fear. What if this doesn’t work? What if it’s worse because of this? What if he dies, right here, covered in blood in a witch’s bed?

He doesn’t notice Minghao pulling down his underwear until they’re tossed off the bed. His skin is a mess of red, smeared down to his cock. He can see his heartbeat under his sternum, the gentle thump of it visible in the stillness. Wonwoo’s hand has shifted to the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers sending pleasant tingles through his whole body. It makes his cock stir and Minghao smirks. His body is all red, too. It looks right in a very unsettling way. Every moment he spends with him, Mingyu comes to realize that this is really who Minghao is, powerful and untamed.

He leans forward and places two fingers against the side of Mingyu’s neck, his voice soft as he murmurs some kind of enchantment. He follows the same path as his mouth, right down the center. It’s worse, then, his head throbbing as pain explodes in his temple. He cries out, hand flying to his head even as Wonwoo beats him to it, rubbing gentle circles against his skin. 

“Use some of the blood,” Minghao says when his fingers reach the base of Mingyu’s cock. “It’ll help.”

Wonwoo dips his fingers into the bowl and presses them to his temple. Like milk on a sunburn, the pain dulls enough that he can think.

“ _Please_ ,” he says, voice cracking on the end. 

He doesn’t know what he’s asking for. Pleasure is still there, too, in the hand that Minghao wraps around his erection. Wonwoo takes his fingers away from Mingyu’s temple and holds them out in front of his mouth. He’s been waiting to be freaked out the entire time (he’s smeared in their _blood, he’s tasted it)_ , but he’s been past that for a while now. 

Mingyu takes Wonwoo’s fingers into his mouth at the same time Minghao swallows his cock. He moans around them and Wonwoo presses down on his tongue, thrusting shallowly in time to Minghao. It’s dizzying and when Wonwoo pulls his fingers out he’s got that look again, predator to prey. Mingyu thinks he’s ready to be eaten.

“ _Please_ ,” he says again, hips bucking up against Minghao’s mouth. 

He presses down on Mingyu’s hips, reminder more than order, and Wonwoo leans down to kiss him. When his tongue slides into Wonwoo’s mouth, Mingyu is convinced his teeth are sharper than before, fangs where canines used to be. Minghao’s mouth is hot and wet and Wonwoo’s is much the same. It’s dizzying. He’s never been with two people at once before though it’s not like he had a lot of time to tell them that. 

Minghao’s hand reaches up, fingertips just grazing his collarbone, and he traces the same line. Down, down, leading the dark magic inside of him down. Before he has time to really generate the thought Wonwoo breaks their kiss. 

“Don’t think about it too much. Your thoughts will give it power,” Wonwoo murmurs. His fingers trail down Mingyu’s collarbone, following the path Minghao’s hand took. “Let yourself go. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Another wave of heat, searing hot in the space between Mingyu’s collarbone and heart. Minghao swallows Mingyu’s cock and slaps his hand over the ache, digging his nails in and scraping down, like he’s trying to drag the curse out of him by force. Mingyu keens, and this time when he bucks into Minghao’s mouth the hands at his hips guide him, easing him into a gentle rhythm. He twists his hands in the sheets and loses himself to it. It’s hard to focus on this razor edge between pleasure and pain, so when Minghao’s finger slips inside of him it takes him by surprise. He gasps and arches into all the hands trailing over his skin. Minghao hums around his cock, coming off with a soft, wet sound.

“Been awhile?” he asks, mouth twitching into a wry smile. His eyes are so dark, pupils and iris blending together into something like a black hole. Mingyu feels like he’s falling into something he cannot escape. 

Minghao curls his finger inside of him and any coherent answer gets choked off as he groans. The burning ache is under his sternum now, following the coaxing call of Minghao’s fingers and mouth, Wonwoo’s seemingly random touches that always end up just shy of where he’s hurting. Minghao adds another finger. The stretch is noticeable but the slide is easy, and Mingyu wonders when exactly Minghao got out lube, or if this is something magic too.

It’s when Wonwoo snaps his fingers next to Mingyu’s ear that he realizes he’s gone somewhere for a moment, that it’s not that Minghao is doing things and he’s not aware, it’s that he’s _losing bits of time_. Minghao’s hand strokes his cock lazily but his eyes narrow when Mingyu blinks back to clarity.

“Stay with me,” Minghao says, “Don’t focus on the pain, but you can’t do that again. It won’t be so easy to find you next time.”

Find him. Like he’d really gone somewhere. He should definitely be more afraid. At some point he ended up leaning on Wonwoo’s chest, the beat of his heart strong and steady, his skin surprisingly warm compared to Minghao. He can feel the urgent press of Wonwoo’s erection, and it’s so much easier to focus on how much he wants to come than on the very real danger he’s probably in.

Another finger, and Minghao’s hand leaves his cock to drag nails down his stomach. He sucks in a breath, arching up into it. Wonwoo presses against him tighter. Minghao’s fingers curl inside of him and he shudders, everything feels good again, too good.

“I’m, _I_ ,” Mingyu pants. It’s almost embarassing to say he’s close, that they’ve barely started and he feels the pleasure under his navel threaten to spill over, but Minghao just nods, fucking his fingers into him faster. 

“Then come.”

Minghao swallows Mingyu’s cock again and it’s barely two bobs of his head before he comes, body coiling tight before going boneless. It feels good enough to drown out the hollow, empty burning in his stomach. Minghao works him through it, slows the pace of his fingers and pops off Mingyu’s cock, turning to face the wall. There’s the sound of something opening and closing, and when Minghao turns back around his face is a strange mix of relief and worry. 

“Three times, I think,” he says, nodding at Wonwoo. Mingyu looks between them as much as he can. He wants to ask what it means, but before he has the chance Wonwoo eases him back down on the bed. He rids himself of the rest of his clothes and grabs the bowl off the nightstand. He lets the blood fall in a line from Mingyu’s neck down to his hips in thick, heavy drips. When Mingyu tilts his head back he can Wonwoo’s bare body, all lean lines, the insistent bob of his erection flushed between his legs. Wonwoo looks down at him with eyes almost pitch black, another pleased smile on his lips. 

“Soon enough, pretty boy. Don’t ignore Minghao, you’ll make him sulk.”

Minghao snorts and Mingyu rights himself to the sight of him slicking his cock in an obscene amount of lube. 

“I am not that kind of man, nor will I ever be.” He lifts Mingyu’s hips easily, like there isn’t a significant difference in the size of their bodies, and presses himself against Mingyu’s entrance. “I’m sure it’s too soon, and I’m sorry for that, but we’ve got to work fast. Remember to focus on me.”

Mingyu nods and Minghao presses inside. It’s _definitely_ too soon after his orgasm, body singing with overstimulation right away. He reaches for Minghao’s hips, an anchor, something to keep him grounded. It’s like the tide, hands pulling him closer and pushing him away. His entire stomach lights up, like a hand has reached inside of him and is twisting his organs. He can’t help but cry out, curling in on himself enough that the blood runs in messy lines down his skin. Wonwoo reaches for his shoulders, puts him flat on the bed. When Minghao bottoms out he plants his hand in the middle of Mingyu’s chest, murmuring some kind of spell as his hand travels down through the mess. When he reaches Mingyu’s hips he mirrors the motion on himself, staining his skin even darker red as his bloody hand trails down his skin. 

The pain dulls a little, enough to think. Minghao hisses. He takes one of Mingyu’s hands and kisses the palm. If Mingyu were more aware he’d probably ask himself if Minghao transferred some of the pain into himself, but his mind is a haze of pleasure and pain, forced concentration and the distant smell of incense.

“You’re doing great,” Minghao says softly. “Just a little more.”

He starts to move when Wonwoo takes his hands off Mingyu’s shoulders. Mingyu shudders, his body overcome with so many feelings all at once. Pain and arousal, overstimulation, pleasure. He wants to —

Minghao leans down and seals their lips together, propping his weight on his hands to keep fucking into him. Their skin slides together, hot and cool. It’s exactly what he needs. His cock brushes against Minghao’s stomach on each thrust, and in the time it takes Minghao to slip his tongue into Mingyu’s mouth everything melts into the best things about sex. Minghao feels so _good_ inside of him, hitting him in all the right places, rhythm relentless in the best way, his tongue Mingyu’s mouth, fucking him just as thoroughly. 

It’s the hottest, messiest sex Mingyu has ever had. He moans into Minghao’s mouth, hands trailing up his waist and settling behind his neck. Everything narrows down to the two of them, and when Minghao breaks their kiss he buries his face in Mingyu’s neck, mumbling words that tingle against his skin, spreading pleasure through him like some kind of drug. 

“ _Come on_ ,” Minghao grits out, fucking into him faster, panting against Mingyu’s skin. “Come on, baby. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

Mingyu’s whole body jolts at the words. He can feel Wonwoo’s hands on him again, but it’s a distant thing.

“Just, this,” Mingyu pants, rolling his hips to match Minghao’s thrusts. “Feels so good. Don’t stop.”

Minghao nips his neck, licking right after, soothing the skin. He shivers, groaning as Minghao grazes past his prostate. Minghao comes up for one more kiss, leaving Mingyu breathless as his hands find Mingyu’s hips, bruising as he picks up the pace. There is a dull, burning ache near his navel, but pleasure overrides everything. Minghao slams into him faster, and his fingers dig into Mingyu’s hips as he comes. He doesn’t slow down, his body trembling, bottom lip between his teeth as he brings Mingyu closer to the edge. 

Minghao opens his eyes and drags his hand over Mingyu’s stomach, wrapping it around his cock and pumping him in time with his thrusts. 

“Come on,” he growls, low and gritty. “Come for me.”

Maybe it should worry him, how easily his body follows Minghao’s commands. It’s a few more strokes over his cock and Mingyu comes with a shout. Minghao is quick to catch his release in his palm even as he fucks him through his orgasm. _God_ , Mingyu thinks absently, _how is he still going?_ The feeling of Minghao’s come inside of him has him hot all over. He wants to kiss him. He wants it more than he wants anything else, even more than he wants to be free of this curse.

Minghao takes the come in his hand and puts as much of it as he can into a jar. _Ah_ , so that’s what he did the first time. He wipes his hand over the open mouth before sealing it shut again. It doesn’t look like much of anything to Mingyu, a weird jar full of his come, maybe, but Minghao frowns before setting it behind him on the bed. 

The candles are dimmer now, the room growing darker without the moon to light up the sky. Minghao pulls out and flops down beside him. He’s still breathing hard. There’s blood all over him in various stages of drying. He runs a hand through his hair to get his bangs out of his eyes. Mingyu reaches for him, fingers sliding into his hair as he tugs him closer and kisses him. Minghao follows easily and whether it’s from being fucked out or because he wants to doesn’t matter to Mingyu in this moment. 

He spends a long time mapping out Minghao’s mouth with his tongue, coming down from another orgasm. Three, they’d said. He hears rustling on the bed and when he breaks the kiss he sees Wonwoo settle on the bed where Minghao was just a few moments ago.

He meets Mingyu’s eyes and stretches, showing off the arch of his back and the lean lines of his body. The tattoos on his arms swirl in the candle light, and this time Mingyu knows it’s not a trick, that something about the magic inside of him makes them move, makes them come to life.

Minghao places a hand just under his navel, and the place he touches burns with a warning ache.

“It’s here,” Minghao says in explanation, meeting Mingyu’s eyes and then looking over to Wonwoo. “The fucker is stubborn.” Wonwoo snorts and Minghao swats at him with a tired hand. “Shut up. You’ll see.” He runs a hand through Mingyu’s hair. “This is why I wanted to go first. Wonwoo’s magic is stronger than mine. He can finish the job much better than I could.”

“Now you’re just trying to get me hot and bothered,” Wonwoo says with a smirk. He slicks up his cock, barely wincing at the contact even though he’s got to be aching by now. He stares at Mingyu for a long time, hand working absently over his erection. It makes Mingyu feel a little warm, eyes on him has always had that effect on him. 

Wonwoo gestures to Minghao and he rolls onto his stomach to grab the bowl of blood off the nightstand, passing it to Wonwoo wordlessly. Wonwoo dips his fingers in and draws some symbols across his skin, the largest one where his heart is, a complex pattern that Mingyu can’t make sense of. 

When he finishes he passes the bowl back to Minghao and leans down, hovering carefully above Mingyu’s body. There is something hot in the air between them. Mingyu can’t help but shiver.

“Since you like it so much,” Wonwoo says before he kisses him, open and hot and it shouldn’t be possible for Mingyu to feel any kind of arousal anymore but he does, tingling heat spreading through his chest and lower. Wonwoo lets Mingyu take the lead, lets him lick into his mouth as much as he likes, and he’s right, Mingyu _does_ like it. When he pulls back Wonwoo’s grins, moving back to his knees and tapping Mingyu’s inner thigh lightly. 

“Hands and knees pretty boy.” Mingyu flushes down to his chest, a terrible mix of embarrassment and arousal in his veins. He does his best not to scramble to comply too quickly, but Wonwoo’s dark laugh tells him he’s probably not been too successful at hiding his reaction.

Minghao is in front of him, sprawled across the bed. He’s beautiful, entire body on display. He pillows his head on his arms and lets Mingyu take him in, eyes dark as he watches. Wonwoo presses a finger inside of him and Mingyu’s arms almost give out, his body jolting, nerves alight. 

Minghao sits up and props his weight on his hands, staring intently at Mingyu’s face as Wonwoo fucks him shallowly. It’s an echo from earlier, the same light pressure of his fingers in Mingyu’s mouth. He shudders. He doesn’t exactly need any prep. Wonwoo is teasing him, or maybe he’s being considerate, working him back up before fucking him. 

He slips in another finger and Minghao moves closer, sits cross legged in front of Mingyu and kisses him, messy and hot, all tongue and the barest graze of teeth at his lower lip. Mingyu moans, his cock pulsing weakly between his legs.

“There you go,” Wonwoo murmurs behind him, angling his fingers to hit his prostate. “Good boy.”

He pulls out and just like that he’s pushing his cock inside him. The stretch is not as intense as it could be, if Mingyu hadn’t already been fucked once, but it’s enough to make him break the kiss and rest his forehead on his arm. Wonwoo’s hands dig into his hips before he presses his palm right where Mingyu’s spine is bowed, fucking into him slow but deep. He moans. It’s so much, everything. He can feel Minghao’s hands in his hair, gentle and easy, guiding him back up to meet Minghao’s eyes.

“Does it feel good, baby?” Minghao asks, a hoarse kind of arousal coloring his voice. 

Mingyu nods, leaning into the touch as Wonwoo starts to fuck him faster, jolting him forward against Minghao’s hand. 

“Gonna make you feel even better.” Minghao kisses him once before pulling away and looking up at Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo sighs and drapes himself over Mingyu’s back, hips grinding against him as he winds an arm around his chest and pulls him up to his knees. The angle has him pressing against Mingyu’s prostate constantly. Minghao’s hand finds Mingyu’s half hard cock, pumping him leisurely. Wonwoo nips his shoulder, his hand smoothing down the front of Mingyu’s body. Minghao’s breath fans over his skin. He noses the crease of Mingyu’s thigh and pumps him faster, unfazed by the way Wonwoo has his body jolting at the force of his thrusts. 

Minghao’s mouth slips over him and he keens, the warm wetness coupled with Wonwoo fucking into him almost too much. Mingyu slips a hand into Minghao’s hair at the same time Wonwoo flicks across his nipple, sending another jolt through him. He doesn’t realize that he’s making noise until Wonwoo’s hand makes it to his mouth, his fingers trailing in a tease across Mingyu’s lips. 

“So noisy,” Wonwoo says next to his ear, grinding his hips tortuously into Mingyu. “Open up for me.”

Mingyu opens his mouth and Wonwoo slips two fingers inside, humming and resuming his brutal pace. Mingyu feels light headed, full in a way he’s never been before, tongue twining around Wonwoo’s fingers the same way Minghao’s tongue swirls around his cock. 

Wonwoo starts chanting then, the sounds of the words familiar though Mingyu still can’t quite make out what they are. He takes his fingers out of Mingyu’s mouth and presses his hand against the skin below his navel. There’s a heat in his hand, some kind of power that pours into Mingyu and forces downward. The pain is severe this time, so much that he screams. Wonwoo sinks teeth into the back of his neck and fucks him faster, Minghao’s mouth relentless on his cock. 

Minghao’s words ring in his head. _Once we start, we can’t stop until it’s finished_. It feels indescribable, how Mingyu can feel so much pain but still be so close to orgasm, like every nerve is lighting up at once. Pain and pleasure and he is floating somewhere in between. 

“Do I have to tell you?” Wonwoo pants against the back of his neck, breath hot over the place where he bit him. “Or can you be a good boy and come on your own?”

Mingyu nods too fast and he can feel Wonwoo’s smile against his skin. He snaps his hips faster, swears under his breath and comes, spilling inside of him. Much like Minghao, he keeps going, fucking into him even as he shakes from his own orgasm. Minghao hums around his cock, looks up at him with wet, lashes, dark eyes burning into his. 

When Mingyu comes his vision swims, and this time it feels like his entire body is on fire, hands inside of him, ripping him open, scooping him out until he’s empty. He sags against Wonwoo’s arm around his chest and if not for that Mingyu would probably hit the bed. He knows Minghao is doing...something with his mouth but he can’t feel anything that isn't white hot agony. He doesn’t even have the energy left to scream. He hears the sound of the little jar opening and closing, and then Minghao’s hands are on his face.

The last words Mingyu hears before the world goes dark are _Stay with me_.

🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

“Drink this. Come on, baby.” 

Minghao’s voice is far away. Mingyu’s eyebrows furrow. He tries to focus on it. There’s a heartbeat against his back, strong and steady. The body behind him is cool. He can’t tell who it is. Something is pressed to his lips and he groans, shaking his head. He just wants to sleep. The body behind him shifts, fingers under his jaw. 

“If you don’t drink this it’ll all be for nothing,” Wonwoo murmurs into his ear. Ah. So Minghao is in front of him. He lets Wonwoo’s fingers guide his mouth open. The liquid is herbal but sweet. It takes three swallows to get it all down. His eyelids are so heavy. There’s a hand on his chest, then, another on his stomach. Throat. Forehead. Minghao chants, and this one seems familiar in a different way. Mingyu is sure he’s heard it before. Like a lullaby, the melody comforting but the memory of it just out of reach. 

His body jolts like he’s been shocked but it’s not painful. The hands don’t press, don’t hold him down. It’s strange, like the liquid he drank is spreading through his whole body, cool and soothing. Strong, somehow. 

When the chanting stops he cracks his eyes open. Minghao is still covered in dried blood, eyes bruised and dark under his lashes. He leans forward and kisses him once, a soft, fragile thing. 

“You can sleep. We’ll take care of the rest,” he says softly. A part of Mingyu wants to protest, wants to struggle, but Wonwoo’s hand is in his hair and before he can even open his mouth sleep overtakes him.

Mingyu wakes up fully to pre-dawn light filtering in through the window in Minghao’s bedroom. Wonwoo is back in his pants, Minghao draped in his black robe. The two of them have their hands above a jar. Mingyu blinks, forcing his eyes to focus. It looks like a living thing, something shifting and moving inside. Minghao’s eyes are milky white. Wonwoo’s are pitch black. Mingyu can’t help but shiver. He wonders how long they’ve been at it, maybe hours spent chanting over the jar, finishing off the ritual. 

By the time he finds the energy to sit up the jar is empty. Minghao’s eyes close and he slumps to the floor. Wonwoo’s nails scrape against the wood as he struggles to keep upright, fighting against something Mingyu can’t see or sense. When he looks at Mingyu his eyes are just bleeding back to normal. He wants to ask if there is something else about him, something not all human. Maybe later, he will. 

Later. He’ll have that. Probably. He touches the side of his neck absently. Flakes of dried blood come off on his fingers, but it just feels like skin. No pain. No heat. He rubs his temple. Nothing.

Wonwoo watches him with a tired kind of amusement, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smile. 

“It’s gone,” he says. “Minghao is delivering it personally.”

Mingyu looks over to Minghao. His body is awkward on the ground, arm crumpled unnaturally under him. It doesn’t look like he’s breathing.

Mingyu doesn’t realize he’s gotten out of bed until he stumbles, knees hitting the floor when he can’t get his feet under himself. He crawls the rest of the way to Minghao, reaching out hesitantly. He wants to touch him, but he doesn’t want to mess up whatever he’s doing. He turns to Wonwoo practically choking on desperation.

“He’ll be back soon. He doesn’t have to go to Hell or anything.”

“Why? Does that take longer?” Mingyu asks, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Wonwoo grins. “Sometimes years.”

He’s about to snap at him when Minghao gasps in a huge breath, sitting up and propping his weight on his hands. Mingyu grips his shoulders in an effort to steady him. His eyes are wide, shoulders trembling under Mingyu’s hands. He’s breathing like he’s been running for hours.

“It’s done,” Minghao pants. 

He looks at Wonwoo, first, and it’s like the two of them are speaking to each other telepathically. Words without words. Wonwoo lets out a quick burst of laughter and lays back against the wood, arms over his face so the only thing visible is his smile, sharp points and too many teeth. Minghao’s eyes move to his and it feels like the first time they’re meeting. A jolt of something new between them. Minghao gives him a soft smile, one that’s almost all real with only a hint of mirth. 

There is no way for Mingyu to not kiss him. He slides his hands up to the nape of Minghao’s neck and pulls him in, pressing their lips together gently. _I’m glad you’re okay_ , he says without saying. _I’m glad we’re okay_. He ends it after a few moments but stays close, stares at Minghao’s swirling dark eyes and it’s there, up close, that he notices the vertical slice of color missing from Minghao’s left eye. 

“What’s this?” he whispers, moving his hand to cup Minghao’s face, thumb smoothing under his eye. 

Minghao sighs, closing his eyes and letting some of the tension bleed out of his shoulders. 

“Magic has a price, Mingyu. Do you remember?” Mingyu traces the skin under his left eye again instead of answering. “It could have been much worse. If Wonwoo hadn’t been here I would have lost a lot more.”

Wonwoo hums behind them. Mingyu sort of forgot he was there. Minghao smiles again, reaching up to fit his hand over Mingyu’s on his face. 

“It’s worth it. It was worth it.”

He wonders if Minghao feels it, too. The connection between them, if Minghao will chalk it up to the lingering magic in the room, coursing through Mingyu’s body, circulating who knows what through his veins. There is time, now. Time enough to make something between them.

Minghao moves their hands from his face and stands shakily, using Mingyu’s shoulder for balance only once. He looks between the two of them and rolls his eyes.

“I think I deserve a nice, long bath after this. You’re both welcome to join me, but don’t expect me to offer again after today.”

He walks out of the bedroom, his hand constantly grabbing something to keep him from collapsing. 

Mingyu glances behind him. Wonwoo seems to be asleep. The tattoos on his arms seem dull, like the color has faded overnight. He shakes Wonwoo’s leg. It’s like he’s the only sober one after a night out, the responsibility of making sure the other two men are okay weighs heavy on him. He has no idea how hard the ritual was on them, what they’ve put themselves through. Taking care of people, though, that’s something that he’s always been good at. 

“Come on. Let’s get clean and then I’ll make a huge breakfast.”

Wonwoo moves his arm at that, cracks his eye open and squints at Mingyu carefully. The silence doesn’t feel tense. It’s almost comfortable between them.

“Call,” Wonwoo says, voice gruff like he actually was asleep for a bit. “I haven’t used this much power in ages. I could eat ten servings of your so-called huge breakfast.”

Wonwoo sits up and stretches his arms above his head. Maybe he could watch the color bleed back into Wonwoo’s tattoos in real time, like a polaroid picture. He stands and holds out a hand. Wonwoo makes a face but accepts it, swaying a little on his feet.

He stares at Mingyu for a long time before he takes his hand away, squinting. 

“It was just sex, Mingyu. Don’t make things weird. I’m not looking for a relationship with you or with Minghao so just, please be normal.” Mingyu’s face goes hot. Wonwoo snorts and then laughs, nose scrunching up. “I know all your secrets, pretty boy. You have never had casual sex in your life, well, except that girl in uni. She _was_ pretty hot, but the fact that you still think about her proves my point.” 

Mingyu has never been more mortified, ever, than he is at this moment. The fact that Wonwoo knows things he’s never told anyone before...He walks toward the bathroom with an exasperated sound, who sees inside someone’s head and then talks about it, _the nerve_ , and Wonwoo’s laugh follows him the whole way.

  
  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  
  


Three nights later Mingyu is eating takeout with Seungcheol in their small living room. A drama plays in the background, the sound a pleasantly low hum. 

“You sleep talk,” Seungcheol says suddenly, turning to face him on the couch. “Did you know that?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “No one’s ever mentioned it.”

Seungcheol hums. Since Mingyu came home from Minghao’s apartment Seungcheol has been giving him strange looks, like he hasn’t managed to wash all the blood off his skin. Like there’s something different about him, like he came home with bleached hair instead of curse free.

“Ever since you moved in,” Seungcheol continues. “It’s how I know when your headaches are bad. You talk the whole night and I can’t get a wink of sleep.” He sets his take out container down on the coffee table. “You haven’t been, not for three days.”

It’s the first external confirmation he’s gotten. Not Minghao assuring him he’s cured. Not the lack of burning ache in his temple. He breathes out shaky and laughs at the end. It feels a little like relief.

“They’re gone for good,” Mingyu says, so softly the drama’s low volume almost drowns him out. Seungcheol watches his mouth form the words and glances at his eyes. “I told you I was seeing someone. I’m cured. I’m —”

Seungcheol’s hand slides over his knee, squeezing. 

“Good. That’s great,” Seungcheol says. He’s smiling so much there is a dimple in his cheek. Mingyu doesn’t think he’s ever seen it before. “This weekend. Let’s go out. To celebrate.”

Mingyu grins back and nods way too many times. Normally he’d have a warning throb behind his eyes from such a movement, but there’s nothing.

Nothing at all.

Two weeks after the ritual Mingyu is given a promotion. He’s still working at the bookstore, but he’s a manager now, key status and everything. The owner mentions opening a second shop on the other side of the city and leaving him in charge of this one. Co-owner, if he plays his cards right. 

It feels a little too good to be true, but Mingyu takes it in stride, shrugs off the owner’s friendly hand on his shoulder and says something like he’s grateful for the consideration. It makes him think about his father in a way he’s been trying to avoid. 

Is this how he’s lived since passing his darkness on to Mingyu? Has everything come to him so easily like this?

On his way home he finds a one hundred dollar bill on the deserted street in front of his apartment, like the universe is trying to shove a lifetime’s worth of happy accidents into his life all at once. 

He’ll have to ask Minghao about it. When he contacts Mingyu again. If he contacts Mingyu again.

  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


Mingyu is sitting in the center circle in Minghao’s apartment. He’s concentrating on his breathing, in and out, Minghao’s voice a gentle reminder. A month after the ritual Minghao says that even though he knows exactly where the magic is, they need to be on their guard. Guard, in this case, means Minghao teaching Mingyu how to sense magic, how to tell its intent, how to defend himself enough to get away from something malevolent even if he can’t see it.

He drops to the floor as a rush of warmth moves through the place his chest was just moments ago. Minghao sighs. 

“What made you get out of the way?” he asks. His voice is close to Mingyu’s ear but he can’t seem to figure out where Minghao’s body is. He could be anywhere, is the problem.

“Wouldn’t it be better to avoid any magic?” he counters. 

Cool hands on top of his. Minghao is in front of him now, maybe has been the whole time. With his eyes closed, Mingyu has to rely on his other senses, barely trained to do this. He feels a little foolish, but Minghao had looked at him, emotion Mingyu has never seen all over his face when he asked Mingyu to try. 

“Not necessarily,” Minghao says. He presses their foreheads together. “People like me won’t always be out to get you. Some send out healing magic when they sense a person is sick or scared or sad. It would be rude to avoid magic like that, and the last thing you need is an angry witch.”

Witch. So he’s finally said it. _Witch. People like me_. Mingyu wonders if witches are born and not made, if it’s not something humans like him are capable of learning. 

His lips slide against Mingyu’s easily. It has become something familiar, though they haven’t kissed since the morning after the ritual. Mingyu hums, wrapping his arms around Minghao’s waist to pull him into his lap. He hasn’t opened his eyes, and there’s a part of him that wonders if this is some kind of magic too, a test, but Minghao is solid against his hands, cool where they touch the way he always is. 

“Why are you always cold?” Mingyu asks when they break apart. He cracks an eye open in time to see Minghao roll his eyes. 

“You stopped kissing me to ask me _that_?”

Mingyu opens his eyes fully then, takes in the inky black of Minghao’s hair, the loose sweater he’s wearing. The slice of white through his iris where brown used to be. He huffs a quiet laugh.

“Do you want me to keep kissing you?”

There are questions under the question. So many Mingyu can’t keep track of them all. _Why did you do this for me? Why do you still want me around? How long do I get to keep kissing you?_

Minghao stares into his eyes, slides his hand along Mingyu’s jaw. 

“Do you really need to ask me all that? I think you know the answers you’re seeking.” He kisses Mingyu again, soft and slow, thorough enough to leave them both a little breathless. “But just this once, I’ll humor you. Yes I want you to keep kissing me. Because I care about you, and I thought it was pretty obvious, considering I could have died. Because I like you. As long as you want.”

Mingyu’s face is burning by the time Minghao finishes. “So you can just, what, read all my thoughts or something?”

Minghao grins. “Everything you feel is right there.” He taps Mingyu’s temple, the spot where just a few weeks ago a curse ate at him like poison. “I don’t have to use much magic at all. You’re just so easy to read.”

Mingyu wants to ask one more thing. He wonders if Minghao knows that, too.

“I want to keep doing this, I — want to — be with you,” Mingyu manages to say.

Minghao’s eyes go a little cooler then, serious. He stares at Mingyu’s temple, down to his neck. It’s unnerving, but Mingyu suppresses his shiver. Eventually he slides more comfortably into Mingyu’s lap, presses their bodies together more firmly.

“You’ve only gotten a taste of what my world is like. You’ve seen the darkness in me, are you sure that’s what you want?”

His hands tighten on Minghao’s waist. 

_You can make a home in darkness_ , Mingyu thinks as their lips meet again. _In people, too._

  
  
  


🝣~🝣~🝣~🝣

  
  


It’s a few months later and Mingyu is outside the coffee shop enjoying the cloudless blue sky, when a sudden gust of wind blows a newspaper clipping onto his table. Magic has become a familiar thing, almost a comfort. He can tell it all apart now. He’s been practicing. Wonwoo’s magic is cool, dark, like drinking water swirled with ink. Minghao’s is warmer, summer thunderstorms and the heady scent of jasmine. 

This magic is something else, like the wind, gentle but insistent. He traps the paper under his palm and makes a sign in the air with his left hand, hopes that it’s tight enough, that his thanks is easy enough to understand. He doesn’t have any magic of his own, but Minghao says it’s all about intent, anyway.

**_Billionaire’s Unexplained Death: Authorities Say No Foul Play Suspected_ **

Mingyu stares at the headline. He’s been expecting it, of course. In a phone call, maybe, his mother hiring some private investigator to track him down, her voice frail and crackling over the phone. On the news at work, a quick blurb in the entertainment section before the anchors move on to the weekly forecast. He should have known to expect something a little more like this. 

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile, and then a grin. And then he’s laughing, hand across his forehead as he stares into the bright blue sky, pain free and light as air. 

He laughs and laughs and laughs. 

**Author's Note:**

> [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/woncheoling) // [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/tsukkitaeil)


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